


Dj's Spn-Spankings fics

by DeathjunkE



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood, Discipline, F/M, Family, Gen, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:19:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/pseuds/DeathjunkE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories I've posted in the LJ community spn-spankings. They aren't related if one is related to another i will let you know. </p><p>All of these were written for my own shameless indulgence in spanking fic and/or there was a challenge in which the spanking Winchesters was brought up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You're Young, Dumb, and Full of Cum

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: "Sorry to say but yes," I watched as Dean sank down onto the sofa and bowed forward his hands running through his short spiky hair. "I came home from work and found your boy and my daughter about to get into it."
> 
> Outside PoV
> 
> Author's Notes/Warnings:  
> Yeah, I lurk most of the time… don’t write spn fic often [ever] so I hope this came out decently.
> 
> Prompt:  
> prompt 9. John catches Dean 16,doing something stupid and spanks him on the spot, with the other person or persons watching.
> 
> Please excuse any typos. This is un-betaed

  


After 16 years of being greeted at the door by my daughter it's something of a shock to walk through the door and not see her come down the stairs, call to me from the kitchen or pop her head up over the back of the sofa like a prairie-dog. The only time I've not gotten a wave or a cheerful —if she's talking I count it as cheerful, with a teenage daughter a man has to change his outlook— "Hi, Daddy!" was when Eliza was sick or sleeping.

"Elle?" I called as I pulled off my jacket and propped my brief case against the wall. Today was friday, there was no dance classes or tennis lesson that would run long and keep her from coming home before me. "Eliza?"

I heard a thump from over my head and a gasp. A million things ran through my head but most prominent were thoughts of robbers, rapist and murderers.

Yes, I jumped to conclusions but really I've got a right to my paranoia. My only daughter is a latchkey kid who's home alone in this shitty neighborhood were you're as likely to be dragged off into an alley as you are to blink once the sun goes down. I flung the hall way closet open, pulled out the Louisville Slugger that stayed there for just this type of thing and raced up the stairs.

As quiet as I could I crept up to my daughter's bedroom door. It was mostly closed but a thin beam of light stretched along the floor of the hallway. I stepped into the beam and leaned forward, looking through the crack between the door and the jamb.

Eliza was just fine.

More than fine apparently.

She was standing between the knees of a boy who was sitting on the edge of her bed. Eliza had her head tipped forward, her forehead pressed against his. The boy's hands were awfully busy; one was slipped under the hem of her too-big T-shirt rucking it up to expose her boy cut panties and more skin than could ever be appropriate while he fingered the fabric of the pink panties at her hip.

"You sure?" came the low murmur of an eager teenage boy, is voice lacking the full bodied depth of a man.

"If you don’t, I'll take 'em off my self." Eliza tucked her fingers into the waist band of her underwear and —Yeah, this shit _just_ wasn't happening.

I dropped the bat and threw the door open. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" I admit the way both of them turned to me with huge terrified eyes made me feel a bit better.

"Daddy!" Eliza backpedaled away from her 'friend' faster than I thought she could move. She pushed her T-shirt down, smoothing it out so that it draped around her knees once more. "You're home! I um, this isn't—"

"If you have at lease half the sense I think you do you will stop talking right now." I snapped at my daughter, keeping my eyes on the boy who was caught midway between standing and sitting. He was biting his lower lip, his green eyes wide and wild as I eyed him. It was clear that he was looking for a way out. His eyes darted from the window to the door to Eliza to me.

"Go on, stand up." I grumbled and gestured to the spot near Eliza's nightstand. The farthest point from door and far enough the window to make that escape route too risky. "What's you're name son."

"Dad—"

"Hush, Eliza." I glanced at my daughter who was tugging panicked at her blonde hair and shifting anxiously. I turned my attention back to the boy who was standing stiff and straight in the spot I indicated. "You're name?"

"D-Dean, sir."

"Right. Dean. Okay." I nodded and let myself process my next course of action. "Well Dean, I need you to just stand right there while I take care of some business, then we'll all go down stairs give your parents a call and talk about this."

The boy —Dean— went white as a sheet and licked his lips. Probably trying to think of a way out of the mess he got himself into.

"Ah, sir… I could just go… I mean—"

"No, no, no. You just stay right there. I really would like to speak with your parents. Find out if they approve of you coming into a man's house and getting far too overly familiar with his daughter before you've even introduced your self." Dean pressed his lips in a tight line and flexed his hands at his sides. It was clear to see that his parents certainly would object had they known what he was up to. And while I really was itching to converse with the people responsible for the young man in my daughter's bedroom I had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Eliza, come here," I gestured to the bed and then busied my hand with the buckle of my belt.

"Dad! Dad, please not now!" Eliza pleaded from where she was. "Can't this wait—"

"No, I'm afraid it can't, Darlin'." It was best to keep a business like voice and bearing, I wasn't going to start yell and shouting, that;s not my style. Once more I gestured to the bed, and proceeded to pull my belt free fro the lips of my trousers and double the thing over tucking both ends safely into my palm.

"Daddy! Can't this just wait until Dean goes home?" Eliza sniffed and wiped at he tears of embarrassment that were starting to leak from the corner of her eyes. "Please, its not fair! You're not being fair! Daddy, please!"

I didn't give in, I wanted to but I already knew where these things lead. I wouldn’t see my daughter sixteen and pregnant. She wouldn’t be repeating her mother's mistakes, my mistakes. The Poor choices I made when I was young, a woman who had no interest in being a mother despite her self righteous indignation when ever I suggested birth control lead to Eliza's birth. I wanted more for my girl and if I didn't sear that message into her ass this very night, well I just don’t know what I'll do.

"Am I going to have to go get you?" I fielded the question with a placid face and tone. Eliza scrambled towards the bed nervously keeping angled away from me, her eyes shifted from the belt in my hand and Dean standing barely five feet away. "Don’t act like you're new to this kid, bend right over, you know the drill."

Eliza's face flush scarlet as she took a deep breath and placed her hands against the bedspread. She looked back at me and voiced another plea, but I ignored her and flipped up her T-shirt. Then to give her a bit of a scare I slid my index and middle fingers into the back of her waistband, as expected my little miss took exception.

"Dad! No!"

"You're not seriously telling me no right now are you Eliza?"

"Dad! Dean'll see!" he groaned and tried to hide her face form view.

"You didn't seem to mind all that much before," I sai. Perhaps, it was a bit cruel to tease but hell it's cruel to have to walk in on your daughter about to take her panties off for some guy you've never even seen before. "But don’t worry, I wont take them down." With out further ado I pulled the fabric up into the cleft of her rear and rested my hand on the small of her back. Eliza was sporting a rather embarrassing wedgie but both her bottom cheeks were visible and readily available for correction.

I didn't bother waiting any more. I swung my arm back and let the belt fly. The sharp sound of leather on skin echoed through the room as stripe after red stripe appeared across Eliza's bottom. She jerked and sobbed and at one point tried to stand up and dart away but I kept her pinned in place.

I was focused on my task; it took a great deal of effort and concentration to paint the naughty rear of a wriggling daughter red. Luckily my bed was wide and covered more skin than one of the normal ones would have making my job easier, I have a policy, I never belt the same place more than three times. Meaning, I go from the crest of Eliza's rump midway down her thighs a total of three times laying down stripes. I must say I appreciate the uniformity of it and I don’t have to worry too much about over lapping blows creating bruises.

By the time I was done my arm was tired and aching mildly, Eliza was sobbing pitifully as she stood up her hands hovering just an inch or so above her tender derrière wanting to sooth the sting but not wanting to make it worse by touching and Dean was a lobster red mask of despair with his own tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Now, honestly, I doubt that he was so moved by my daughter's punishment that he was fighting back tears. I think it's more of an empathy thing going on. I'd be willing to bet my house that watching Eliza get her comeuppance brought what he was sure to be facing once his mother or father arrived.

I threaded my belt back through the loops of my pants while I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. I drew Eliza to me and hugged her tightly for a few moments before she squirmed away. That was all the comfort she would ever allow herself in times like these. She didn't like being held for long and never wanted to talk about the punishment afterwards.

"Right," I said, hoping I sounded sure of myself. "We're going to go downstairs Dean and you are going to call your folks to come pick you up, because I'm not letting you leave here with out an adult."

Stiffly Dean walked in front of me and started the procession out of the room. I reached behind me and snagged Eliza's hand, towing her after me, right now I couldn't stand to have her out of my sight.

Once we made it to the living room I handed Dean the phone and sent Eliza to a corner. I went to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of water; one for Dean, who gratefully knocked the whole glass back like it was a shot and one for Eliza and myself to share. I took a few sips then tapped Eliza on the shoulder. She turned away from the corner and accepted the glass, she guzzled the rest of the water down and I got a good look at her splotchy pink face. She had stopped crying but she hadn't calmed down yet. When she was done I took the glass and motioned her back to the corner.

Usually I would have waited in the next room while someone was on the phone, but this wasn’t a time for such pleasantries. I blatantly eavesdropped on the conversation Dean was having —if you could call it a conversation.

It went along the lines of, "Dad, it's me… Um, no, sir…Yessir…no, sir…no, sir….no, sir… Yessir …no, not that bad. Yessir. Alright I will hold on…"

Dean closed his eyes, exhale long and slow before passing me the phone. "My dad wants to speak with you sir."

"Hello, Elliot Mitchell speaking."

"John Winchester, Dean's father." The man sounded like he was exhausted and I couldn't halp but to feel a bit sorry for him. Work all day until you're dog tired to have something like this land in your lap. "My boy's causing you problems Mr. Mitchell?"

"Sorry to say but yes," I watched as Dean sank down onto the sofa and bowed forward his hands running through his short spiky hair. "I came home from work and found your boy and my daughter about to get into it."

In the back ground I could hear the sound of a door opening and a cheerful 'hey dad' of a younger child. The poor man was just getting home. "Fuck. Fuck…" there was a few seconds of silence, "that damn boy, I swear… Where are you? I'll come take care of my end of this mess now."

"We're on Bristol and 56th, red house with the white awning."

"At least its not far. I'll be there in five minutes. Put dean back on please.""

"Right." I handed the phone back to dean who upon hearing what ever his father said flushed a deep dark red and answered with a mumbled 'yessir'. It only took me a moment to figure out what he'd been told because after Dean put the phone back in its cradle he made his way to one of the empty corner of the living room and stood there with a mulish look on his face and his fingers laced behind his head.

Yeah, it wasn't to difficult to see where this was leading. Looks like my earlier theory about empathy was right on the money. Especially when my doorbell chimed through the stiff silence.

When I pulled open my door I was caught off guard. John Winchester wasn't what I expected, not that I expected anything but I I had been expecting him to look like something I don’t think I'd expect the man who showed up at my door. He was tall six foot three at he very lease, built like a line backer with broad shoulders, bulky muscles and an overwhelming presence.

The man was good looking despite the blatant exhaustion, 5 o'clock shadow and messy hair. Winchester's movements were economic and precise. He moved with the same military bearing my uncle had after he came back from his tour in Cuba.

We shook hands and I ushered him inside. "would you like a drink before you deal with the unpleasantness? I've got water, cola, and cranberry juice or I could put on some coffee."

"Coffee sounds good," the man shot a wry grin at me and tipped his head in the direction of the kids, "Besides it'll do that boy good to stew a bit."

"Right then have a seat John, I'll get the pot on."

"I'm sorry about this whole thing…"

"You know, despite what they say it really does take two to tango." I shrugged and pulled down two mugs from the shelf. I scooped a spoon of sugar in my own and pushed the mug and sugar pot across to my guest.

"No thank you, I drink it straight."

"Yeah, you really are military."

"That obvious?"

"You've got the bearing of a military man, and the coffee preference of one as well."

John nodded and I reached back for the coffee pot and filled John's mug before putting it back under the percolator.

"So, Elliot, right?"

"yes."

"What exactly happened?"

I gave John the rundown of this evening so far as he drank his cup of coffee and I poured my own.

"Shame of it all is that I remember those years. Young, dumb—"

"Full of cum." The grin John gave was genuine this time and I couldn’t help but grin back. "God help me, I don’t know how I'm going to do this again."

"Hm?"

"I've got another son. He's twelve going on thirty five, too smart for his own good and hard headed enough that its just about impossible to make him do anything."

"You got of easy, man. Try raising a girl on your own and see if you're not ready to off your self." I guzzled my coffee down, scalding my throat and collected the mugs from the tale to wash them. "At least boys are pretty straight forward. Eliza, hell if she's mad she won't say it and she wont tell me what I've done. Trying to find something she likes is hell because just when I got the trend it changes, talking to her when she gets on a roll is like decoding the Rosetta stone and all that isn't too bad because you wade through it but explaining to a fourteen year old what pads and tampons are— I was just beggin' for some one to shoot me."

"You've got a point." John conceded gracefully and then climbed to his feet. "Lets get this show on the road." I led the way to the living room and hung back by the door way as John stood in the center of the room. "Dean, front and center."

The boy turned from the corner and moved to stand just out of his father's reach. Dean's eyes never left his boots and he jammed his hands into his pockets. "Yessir?"

"Dean, why am I here?" there was no answer, Dean kept his eyes studiously on his feet and his mouth shut tight. "Why am I here picking you up from Mr. Mitchell's place when you were supposed to be at home looking after your brother? Why am I apologizing to this man when I _know_ I taught my boys better than to treat someone's home and family with such disrespect? Please, enlighten me, tell me why you're out chasing tail when I told you that you were on restriction until I saw decent grades from you."

I watched intrigued as Dean's face went from red to ashen white. Can't say I blame the boy, those were some pretty heavy offences.

"Is this your way of telling me I can't trust you?"

"No!" Dean's head snapped up, his eyes wide and pleading as protested. "Dad! It's not like that!"

"Then what's it like Dean?"

"I-I…Dad—" The boy stumbled over his words trying so hard to come up with something to get him out of this tight spot but coming up with nothing.

John didn’t acknowledge his son's attempts at an explanation, "Because from where I'm standing I cant trust you to follow simple instructions like stay home, I cant trust you to be responsible enough to look after your brother while I'm working or keep up your grades and apparently I can't trust you to act like you've got some god damn sense. Right now it seems to me that your baby brother is more responsible than you are."

John situated himself on the sofa, leaned forward and snagged his son by on of his belt loops and used it to tow the boy closer. Once dean was standing between John's thighs the man started to unfasten his son's jeans.

In all actuality I was totally not prepared for that. I mean sure I figured Dean would be on the business end of his father's arm but I didn’t think more than a scolding would happen in my living room or in my sight. I guess Dean did expect this because he didn’t make a single sound of protest, I would have thought he would make at least one plea for privacy in not a stay of punishment until they got home.

Dean reached down to push his father's hands away and undo his pants himself but that clearly didn’t go as planned. John slapped his hands sharply before pushing them away with a gruff, "Do not test me, little boy."

I watched as John Dragged his son's jeans down. Next, down came the jockey's al the while John kept eye contact with the embarrassed teenager. When Dean tried to look away his chin was cupping in John's massive paw and his face was turned back to his father.

"This isn't the first time I've talked to you about this is it?"

"No sir." I had to strain to hear the whisper.

"But this will be the last. Understand me, little boy?"

"Yessir," Dean mumbled, but clearly that wasn’t enough for John who repeated the question once more. "Yes, Dad."

With the discussion done John tugged Dean over his lap. John's height and the way he spread his legs made it so that Dean was forced to hold onto his father's legs for some stability because his feet danged about three inches off the floor. It was a childish poison, hell it down right babyish, Eliza hadn't gotten spanked like that since she was six.

John laid his big palm on the fullest part of his son's behind as if sizing up his aim and the suddenly pulled his arm back and let his hand fly. Dean, Eliza and my self all jumped at the first spank. The sound was loud and echoing like a gunshot. The first ten were just the same, they were clearly meant to make one hell of an impression and it certainly did! Dean was kicking and bouncing before number six had landed and Eliza had turned from her corner looking on with a horrified expression and clutching her own bottom tenderly.

I kept my eyes on Winchester watching his technique and there unquestionably was a technique to his discipline. John didn’t draw back his arm at all but rather rotated it in broad sweeps snapping his wrist at just the right moment. Each strike was carried upward where so that when hand met backside it did so at the most effective angle. There was no squirming and jerking that made it less effective.

John's handprints went from fish belly white to pink to right Crayola red. The red and prints melded together overlapping and overlapping in layer until one uniform pink (then later red) was achieved It was amazing to see how quickly Dean's behind turned from pale peach to a startling maroon.

And if that wasn't change enough the difference in Dean was astounding. Sure when he was first called before his father he was subdued and nervous as all children in the face of chastisement were. He was sorry he got caught and upset that he had disappointed his father, there could be no doubt. But all in all he hadn't been penitent for his actions but now he most certainly was.

The boy was openly sobbing clutching his father's leg desperately with one arm as he used the other to swipe away the tears and snot that dripped from his eyes and nose. Dean had long ago abandoned shame not caring who saw what as he kicking and curled over his father's lap in a desperate attempt to get his bottom away from the unrelenting correcting palm of John Winchester. The steady application of John's sturdy hand also shook loose the persona of a young man and instead revealed the little boy who begged with tears in his eyes "Daddy, Daddy please! I'm so-sorry! Daddy, no more! Dad!"

John was clearly in a class of his own, because he ignored that heart-breaking plea as if it had never been spoken. He just adjusted his grip on Dean's waist, tucking the boy more firmly into his father's side and continued to apply his hand to the issue with out letting up.

Dean unable to keep still threw a hand back in a fruitless attempt to stop his punishment. That only made John alter his target, instead of spanking Dean's rear he went for the tops of the boy's pale thighs making the child squeal and pull his hand away as if he'd been scalded.

"You know better." Had been the only censure John offered on that deed. There was another minute or two of steady swats before I heard John's voice again, "Last ten, Dean."

Dean nodded into his crossed arms and gripped his hair pulling himself into his arm as if he was trying to escape from he final spanks. Each of the last ten was just as hard as the first spank and I couldn't help but feel bad for the boy who sobbed so brokenly.

I snapped my fingers twice, catching Eliza's attention from where it had been riveted and nodded to the stairs. This time between Dean and his father was private, we didn't need to be here to intrude. Eliza sidled around the edge of the room and once she was at the stair bounded up to her bedroom. I started my climb but was called back by a weary John Winchester.

"Elliot just don’t go yet, we'll be out of your hair in a minute, let me just get my boy settled." John said looking over his shoulder at me as he flexed his hand. Even from here I could see his palm was every bit as red as Dean's behind. The man grimaced and shook his hand out before maneuvering his son up into his arms.

Dean looked the part of contrite little boy with tears on his face, quivering lips and a red bottom as he sat on John's and his his face in the nape of his father's neck. His undoubtedly painful rump was situated on John's thigh making the boy squirm and wriggle even. Dean's sobs hitched and he coughed as he regained his composure clinging to his daddy all the while.

John murmured word into Dean's ear as he rubbed the boy's arms and back. Those words were private and I already felt like quite the intruder.

It took five minutes for John to let Dean up. And while the boy could stand under his own power his father wasn't allowing or much else. John had held open Dean's boxers and jeans for the boy to step in as if he was still a toddler. Again when deans when to fasten his pants his hands were shoved away and John was doing it himself. Once dean was dressed and John used the sleeve of his flannel shirt to clean his boy's face he gently push dean towards me.

I peered down at the boy who had come so close to bedding my daughter in my own house and felt nothing but compassion. Yeah, he screwed up, but he was just a kid and he definitely wouldn’t be doing anything like this again soon.

"I-I-I'm sorry, sir." He croaked out in a cracked yet watery voice, "I'm so sorry. I want thinking and I didn’t mean for anything to go as far as—"

I shook my head and held out a hand to stop him, "You knew where it was going, and you were hoping it got there. Trust me, I know, I was your age once. Look kid, I'm not going to hold a grudge or anything just… be careful alright?"

Dean nodded and then eagerly scurried back to his father's side. John reached out once more, shook my hand and left my house his son trailing behind him.


	2. Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean disapproves of John spanking Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is more of a look at the different relationships between Dean and Sam, and John and Sam. At least whn it comes to discipline.

This was getting really old really fast. 

If John didn’t want to hurt him he needed to stop soon, the boy's usual pale ass was a mottled burgundy with tiny flecks purple that would no doubt become bruises. John was stopping now even if Sam was still being resistant. The boy was, as usual, playing stoic. Sam never cried, apologized or pleaded when he was over his father's knee. Instead Sam Locked his Jaw stiffened up and refused any reaction other than the occasional gasp and flinch.

With a muted sigh John lifted his hand once more and smacked it firmly on his youngest behind. The boy jerked when the swat connected with his sore —and shit he _had_ to be sore, John's ass twinged in sympathy— discolored ass.

"Samuel," The answer was a low pained snort that made John's hand itch, the boy knew better than to answer like that. "Are we not done here then?" 

John rubbed his hand briskly over his boy's sore butt dragging a muttered, "Yessir, 'm listin'" and some fierce wriggling. The burn was certainly catching up now.

"That so?"

"Yessir."

"Good, be sure to answer me then." John gripped the boy around the waist and pulled him in tighter there would be no more wriggling. "Sam, if you run off to a party when you know we got a hunt again, I promise you, this will be a cake walk. We've got a job to do and you need to remember that. Understand me?"

"Yessir, I got it. It's crystal clear. So, who do I send my letter of resignation to?"

The little shit.

"The good Lord. Because you get smart with me again, I'll send you to him myself!" John lifted his hand again and aimed for those milk pale thighs, before the night was over those would be just as red as Sam's ass.

For the first time through out the whole spanking Sam made a sound a very clear and drawn out hiss. The sound echoes through the cab of the pick up, clear and undeniable.

John nodded in approval, apparently he was getting trough to his son in one way or another. His arm was burning from exertion, his hand was aching and numb at the same time and his nerves were beyond frayed but he wasn't going to stop yet. If it was the last thing John Winchester ever did he would, here and now, impress upon this boy that running off to hang out with a bunch of stupid kids in the middle of the woods with a Jumbie out on the loose was never a good idea.

Hell, the boy should be grateful that John hadn't taken a seat on one of the logs around the bonfire the kids had lit and started in on him then and there. Instead of doing that, John had been reasonable about it. he walked into the camp ground calmly and told the kids that they could either leave now on their own, with their beer and no parents being notified or he could be a real asshole and hold them there and call their parents to pick them up. 

None of the kids were happy, but they all left on their own, most giving Sam sympathetic looks, a few shooting pissant glares. They'd get over that real soon, and of they didn’t, that didn’t matter either because Saturday morning they were going to be three states over in South Dakota.

"You understanding me now, boy?"

"Yessir."

"You gonna get smart with me again?"

"Nosir."

"Pull up your pants and sit still. We'll be at the hotel in ten minutes." John grumbled even as he helped Sam get his boxers over his sore and swollen behind. Again, Sam made no sound, he just settled himself gingerly on his hip and prayed for smooth pothole free streets. 

The ten minutes to the Motor Inn seemed more like an hour with the thick silence between them. When John pulled his truck into the lot besides Dean's Impala Sam threw open the door open and headed straight for their room.

With a deep heaving sigh John rubbed his hands over his face and grimaced. Why did he always have to be the bad guy? He knew just how the rest of the night was going to go.

Dean would take one look at Sam, shoot John a dirty look and then herd his Sammy into the bathroom. Sam would shower while Dean paced, piled every blanket in the room on the bed he and Sam shared, fret and give his father dirty looks. 

When Sam came out of the shower in one of his Dean's too big T-shirts and nothing else Dean would tow him to the bed and undo Johns hard work rubbing in sunburn ointment onto his baby brother's well-spanked derrière as he glared at John. Once the ointment was on and there was nothing else to be done Dean would sit against the headboard and pull Sammy up to him. 

After Sam was safely bundled under several thick blankets in his brother's arms, having his hair pet, back rubbed, being coddled and gently scolded by Dean, Sam would break down and cry for all he was worth into Dean's chest. Dean, even as he soothed and cuddled (even though he refused to call it that) Sam would pin John with an evil eye over Sam's head. —And it wouldn’t be the normal dirty look either— it would be the harsh unforgiving gaze, the one that makes John feel as if his oldest boy thinks he's a murderer.

"Mary, if I didn't know better I would think this is revenge." The hunter grumbled into his flask, thinking back on all of the time outs and the two spankings Mary had sentenced Dean to when he was little.   
The boy would sniff softly, wibble those adorable little lips and stretch is arms up, reaching for his Daddy. Even at four years old Dean figured out that Daddy would always, always, _always_ pick him up and let him out of the corner before the timer buzzed. 

Back then John always, always, always caved. After Mary that just wasn’t possible. There was no one else to be the bad guy or set the rules. There was no more "Because Momma says", now it was "Because I said" and there was nothing he could do about it.

John leaned his head against the cooling leather of the headrest and contemplated what the next two days would be like. Dean probably wouldn’t speak to him tonight —or tomorrow… There would be no coffee, dean would probably do something to the machine to make it short out after he put the water in and all of John's toast would be burned beyond butter knife scrape offs.

Dean was odd about Sammy's punishments. Dean was the first to admit it when Sammy needed a spanking, he refused to interfere even when Sam begged him to with his huge watery eyes and sad little boy expression'. During those instances Dean would drag his little brother into his lap and talk to Sam, make him see where he went wrong and why he deserved his punishment. Sammy would sit sullenly in Dean's lap until his big brother made him go face his doom. 

Dean never said a word about them to John although it was clear to see that he didn’t approve of John spanking Sam. Every time Sammy was due for a tanning Dean pulled on his coat and stood outside the front door, he wanted to leave and not have to listen to the sounds of Sammy being spanked but not daring to be out of ear shot just incase Sam called for him. Then in the aftermath he treated John like he'd been caught strangling little baby bunnies in cold blood.

John felt the whole thing was more than a little hypocritical. Because Dean was in charge when John was away, Sam's discipline often fell on his shoulders. And yes, Dean grounded and took away privileges but on several occasions Dean had spanked Sammy.

A few of those spankings John had witnessed and had had been struck dumb. Sam sobbed, fussed, whined and kicked when he was over his brother's lap. Dean usually had Sam's butt glowing a healthy candy apple red by the time he stopped spanking, secure in the feeling that Sam had learned his lesson and was genuinely apologetic as he shifted and sobbed piteously on a chair that faced the corner. 

Those results were not anything like the cold determined silence John got when he disciplined his troublesome son. John even used to try to hold and comfort Sam after any spankings he dished out, but the boy would stiffen up and refuse to be hugged, pet or held. After a while John stopped trying to hold him and sent him over to Dean for his dose of after punishment comfort.

John sighed and took a healthy swig from his flask and made his way to the door. He was as ready as he'd ever be for his eldest's disapproving glare and feeling exceedingly thankful that Dean wasn't big enough to haul _him_ over his lap for a spanking


	3. 2012 Spring Challenge; Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica, tired of Sam's irresponsible behavior starts a new regimen in their apartment.  
> F/m caning

  
Dean had always told Sam he was a spoiled brat, but Sam never did take his word for it. After all, all the brats he saw were usually stupid little assholes who thought that they were entitled to much more than they ever earned. They threw tantrums in malls over toys, and kicked their mothers, and got poor grades and Sam, well, he had never done any of those things.  
  
Sam threw fits, yeah— but those were kept in the car and assorted motel rooms. There was no way he was going to embarrass himself in the middle of a rest stop or mall or restaurant. He heard the thing Dad, Dean and everyone else said about those kids.  
  
Sam didn't have a mother to kick, but even if he did he wouldn't have kicked her. John Winchester had instilled a certain sense of unshakeable chivalry in both his sons and it was demonstrated everyday. Opening doors, proper form of address, use of those shiny manners they dusted off and used in the presence of women. Dean, as much of a womanizer as he was, would monitor his language and always gave his seat up to what ever woman walked through the door regardless of how long of a wait they had.  
  
Sam had only once in his life ever gotten a D, it was in fourth grade when Dad was in the hospital and Dean was too worried to help him practice for his spelling test. He was on a free ride to Stanford University— his grades were beyond impeccable.  
  
As a Winchester Sam had to do with out a lot. There was no room for bikes, video games, or pets in the impala. Everything he owned had to fit in a duffel bag or else it was gone. All the things he cared about were kept on his person; because there had been many times his family had been chased out of towns with the shirts on their backs and their car. Hell he lived in a fucking four door sedan all of his life.  
  
This was anything but a luxurious life that led to being spoiled.  
  
So it was understandable that Sam was shocked when during an argument Jessica told him he was a spoiled brat. Sam reeled back as if he'd been slapped and looked dumbly at his girlfriend.  
  
"Wait …what?"  
  
"You're spoiled."  
  
"How am I spoiled?"  
  
"It's like, you can't understand why I would say no. And you push and whine and aggravate me until I change my mind and if when I don’t you do what ever it is anyway and then fucking lie about it." Jessica said levelly as she sat down on the edge of the coffee table.  
  
"I think you're over reacting." It was said with an exaggerated calm, as if he was approaching a hysterical person. Clearly it was meant to be condescending.  
  
"We cannot afford cable, Sam. We discussed this, we live in a studio and we're saving for an actual apartment. We can't afford to blow money like this."  
  
"I got the basic package. It's not even that expensive and it comes with our own Internet connection."  
  
"Yeah, okay great." Jess ran a hand through her hair and looked her boyfriend straight in the eye, "That doesn’t change the fact that we can't afford to have cable and move out in seven months when the lease is up! What about cancelation fees!"  
  
"We're moving aren't we. How will they even find us?"  
  
"Oh dear God! Sam!" She covered her face with her hands and her head tip back. "Has no one ever explained bills to you before?"  
  
"Errr." This didn’t seem like the right time to tell his girlfriend that he came from a family that lived out of a car, hustled pool, cards and darts, as well as used fake IDs and credit cards to support themselves. And so he stood up pulled his coat from the back of the chair he was sitting on and shrugged into it. "I'm going to go for a walk."  
  
"And there it is!" The blond held up her hands as if she was about to say TADA!!  
  
"There what is?"  
  
"Tactic number three for when Sam Winchester doesn’t get his way: Leave." She leveled him with a serious look and tried to calm down, "You don’t like what I'm saying and so you walk out."  
  
"Look you're being ridiculous and quite frankly I don’t want to deal with it. Besides when we move they wont have any idea who to send the bill to so what does it matter?"  
  
And with that, Jessica note, her calm flew out the window.  
  
"It matters more than you think, you are responsible for those bills. It's time to man up Samuel! You've got grown up responsibilities now."  
  
"Man up? Man up?" Sam felt his calm slip away from him as all the fights and arguments with dad came racing back. 'Man up'; He had heard that shit all his life from his father, his brother and who ever else felt they had a right to comment on his life and his choices. "What exactly is that supposed to mean? Last time I checked I—"  
  
"It means grow and see to your responsibilities! You shove off just about everything aside from school work as if the rules of the word don’t pertain to you!" Jessica gestured to the stack of Bills piled up on the table, all unpaid with Sam's name across the tops. "Bills taxes, groceries, a steady job that isn't just temp work, not walking out at the beginning of a conversation where some one trying to tell you about the possible ramification of the impulsive things you do, Sam."  
  
In an attempt to regain the righteous ground sam brought the argument in a different direction. "What is so horrible about cable? We come home and we're tired and want to unwind what's wrong with having a few more channels? We don’t even go out that much because we are hoarding away money and working alternate shifts. This is something for the both of us…"  
  
"It's not even about the cable any more Sam, Its about you and you lack of regard for your responsibilities. I swear it's like you never learned these things."  
  
In all honesty he really hadn't, but it wasn’t like Sam would ever admit to that.  
  
Dean was the one who had been responsible for keeping food in what ever shitty room o apartment they rented that week or month, Dean had made sure the Sam got to and from school regardless of the weather or transportation available. Dean had taken care of laundry, school supplies, cleaning and just about every thing else.  
  
Dean knew these things, not Sam.  
  
"I need to go." Sam snatched his keys off the table and walked out the door with and, "I'll be back in an hour or two." called over his shoulder.  
  
Annoyed beyond belief Jessica walked the ten feet to the queen sized bed she and Sam shared and threw her self down. She snatched up her cell phone and called the cable company, thankful that she had a friend who worked there and knew the policies well enough that he could tell her that if she canceled service before the first week was up that the contract would be voided and that there would be nothing to pay.  
  
After she got off of that call she glanced out the window and started to dial Sam's number. Jess waited for the first ring and when Sam's ring tone blared over by the bathroom sink she rolled her eyes and went to go get the stupid thing before it fell into the toilet.  
  
Jess retrieved the phone and flipped it open. It was a lot different from her's, it opened straight to the address book. Where there were exactly five names:  
  
 **Brady H.  
Bobby S.  
Dean W.  
Dad (J.W.)  
Jessica M.**  
  
Ah the Dean, of Winchester legend. The only person sam knew before college that he ever spoke of. Jess pursed her lips and made a decision. Sam didn’t offer information, she was at the end of her tether and surely …surely Dean Winchester knew how to handle his younger brother.  
  
And so she called.  
  
"Sam? What's wrong? Where are you?" Dean picked up on the first ring. His rough voice pitched now in clear panic, shooting questions at her.  
  
"Sam is fine, don’t worry. I'm his girlfriend Jess."  
  
"Oh," "ah alright then why are you calling me? on Sam's phone?"  
  
Jess heard the sound of laughter and clicking glasses and rolling balls in thee background. He was obviously in a bar. "I'm sorry, this was stupid, forget I called."  
  
"No, no, you called for a reason and I'm not doing anything. So how can I help you?"  
  
"I need a bit of advice, about Sam."  
  
"Mmmhmm, he being an ass?" There was the chime of a bell and she knew he had gone outside, "Over reacting, not eating or working himself up for no reason?"  
  
"Not even that. I need to know how to get him to listen to the things I say, I mean really hear me out on some things."  
  
"I'm going to need more information than that if I'm gonna help you out, you know."  
  
"Sam and I live in a studio right now. So we agreed to save up for a new and bigger apartment so we can have a kitchen and a bedroom as opposed to it being the same room. We agreed that we would stick to just the necessities and save up, so that when could move out once the lease was up."  
  
"Sounds reasonable."  
  
"I thought so too but Sam seems to think we just couldn't do with out a second computer last month and this month it's cable." Jess ran her hand through her hair, it was a nervous habit she'd yet to get rid of but at this point it was justified. She didn’t think it was all that great to be complaining to Dean about his brother during their first conversation. Let alone before they even met, He would probably think she was some kind of skeevy bitch. "He said he'd help me save up, he's doing the exact opposite of saving up. And yeah that's bad enough but when I bring up anything he's done he either lied about it to my face or just walked out and I don’t have a clue on how to get him to just be honest with me and list to what I'm saying."  
  
"That is classic Sam. There is one way and one way only to get him to pull his head out of his ass far enough that your voice can reach his ears." There was a deep sigh followed by a rye chuckle on the other end of the phone. "You want me to come over there and sort him out or are you willing to do it your self? I'll come if you need me to, but I'm 8 hours out."  
  
"I'll do it, I've got to learn to hand our problems anyway. I can't tell to big brother when ever there's a problem, we're supposed to be adults."  
  
"Right. First things first, that adults thing get that right out of your head. When Sam's being stubborn and hard headed he's all of four years old. You're going to have to treat him like a four year old and spank him."  
  
"You want me to spank my boyfriend?"  
  
"You wanted to know how to handle this and I'm telling you exactly how. Fool proof I swear on my car."  
  
Even though Jess knew next to nothing about Dean but she knew that he drove a 67 impala that he loved above all else.  
  
"You're going to have to bust his ass, sit him down, and then say what you need to say I guarantee he'll sit up and take notice." He paused for a moment, probably thinking, "Dad and I are large enough that we could hold him in place but if you're small you're going to have to manage to tie him down. He thrashes, no handcuffs because he can pick them.  
  
Second, you need his _hairbrush_."  
  
"Not mine?"  
  
"No, not yours he wont have a problem getting rid of your stuff if it saves his ass. So use his, besides is an old oak one. Sturdy thing, he's definitely feel that."  
  
"That brush broke last week." Thinking back on it when Sam dropped the brush and saw that the handle snapped off he did seem a bit happier. Probably because he knew if his brother ever came for a visit and saw the stupid shit he was prone to doing —like popping clearly illegal pills he'd got from Morrison so that he could stay awake and alert when cramming for his Psych midterm, fighting frat boys who got on his nerves and her all time favorite just refusing to eat or drink anything during finals week so that after his last class he passed out and had to taken to the hospital— he'd get a dose of that brush right across his ass.  
  
"No doubt on purpose, that thing doesn’t just break, I promise you. He probably thought he caught sight of me out there last week."  
  
"Well, get something that can be used to make one hell of an impression and don’t stop until you are absolutely positively certain that you have made one. When that's all done, let him stew for a few minutes and then say what ever it is you want to his take seriously. If it doesn’t work for you I'll go out there and address the problem myself, alright"  
  
"Yeah, thanks Dean."  
  
"No problem… Take care of my boy alright?"  
  
"I will." As soon as the words left her mouth Dean hung up and left Jessica contemplating.  
  
No cuffs…. A belt would work just fine to tie Sam's hands to the frame and it would be easy to see if he was messing with it or not if she was standing. Jess picked up one of Sam's spare belts and tied it around one of the large wooden slats of the headboard. When Sam came back from where ever he wandered he would flop down on the bed face first like he always did and then she should simple wrap the belt around his hands and buckle it on the side so it would be difficult for him to get himself out.  
  
Some thing to spank with… She wouldn't use her brush. The wooden spoon in the sink was cheap and would probably break after two or three swats. The cutting board had no handle and her racquetball kit was in her gym locker on campus.  
  
Jessica's eyes roved around the room before they settled on the closet last year for Halloween she had need a headmistress. The outfit had come with fake glasses, a beaded glasses string and a long rattan cane.  
  
A caning would suit the situation well, she decided. The use of a different implement would separate his brother's (and maybe father's too) disapproval with his behavior and her displeasure with his behavior. On the plus side she had attended a few classes at crucible back when she had been dating a guy who liked his sex flavored with a bit of BDSM and caning was one of the subjects that had been covered in the class.  
  
Jess, certain of her plan of action went to the closet and pulled out her cane. She swung it through the air a few times and to check if her swing and stance was still correct. She wacked a pillow a few times and was pleased with the strikes after about ten minutes of practice.  
  
Jess glanced at the cable box and saw it flashing 10:30. It had been about an hour and twenty minutes since Sam had left. He'd be back soon and she wanted to shower.  
  


(-)

  
  
When Sam came in he looked around the room that was his apartment and heard the water running in the distance. Jess was in the shower. The numbers on the cable box glowing green were visible through out the room. Sam rolled his eyes at the stupid thing, kicked off his boots, and threw himself face down on the bed. Sam buried his face in his pillow, not wanting to look at the cause of that whole stupid argument  
  
Sam didn't even move from his comfortable position once Jess emerged from the bathroom in a haze of steam and lavender scented body wash. He heard her move about the room getting dressed in her bedtime usual, her rainbow striped socks, an old pair of his boxers and a T-shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her.  
  
Sam didn't budge from where he lay when Jess sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him. If she thought he was asleep she would probably leave well enough alone.  
  
Sam did however lift his head when he felt something wind around his wrists and cinched tight. He peered over his shoulder into Jess' face, her eyes didn’t flash, not even when he muttered a low 'Christo'. This was Jess, 100%.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked as Jess pulled back and reached under Sam's hips. Never one to deny his girlfriend access to his cock, Sam lifted his hips and didn't fight when Jess dragged his jeans and Jockeys down off of his legs. "Is this angry sex?"  
  
"This is so far removed from sex— you'll probably think of this as the exact opposite of sex." Jess' voice was calm, not at all angry, just resolute.  
  
Sam tugged at the belt around his wrists a few times and when he realized that not only was the belt tied down to the bed, but he couldn’t loosen his restraints. Sam looked over his shoulder once more and caught a glimpse of a thing pale stick in Jess' hand and began to pull frantically at the belt.  
  
"Stop that, I'm not going to kill you. I just want to make sure you understand what it is that I'm saying." With out further fuss she pressed the stick against the crest of his rump.  
  
'Sizing up the blow no doubt.' Sam thought sourly as he tried to get his wits about him. Was this the fabled switch that his father had threatened him with years ago? That thought made his stomach go cold, he had left, he was done with spanking and the childish disciple of years past and he was going to tell Jess hust that too!  
  
 _Shwoop…_  
  
Or at least he was going to before that goddamn stick came down with a whistle and a fearsome sting. He couldn’t hold back a yelp.  
  
"I see I've got your attention then."  
  
"What the fuck is that!" Sam snapped only to be on the receiving end of three sharp hits one right after the next all in the same spot. For a few seconds Sam felt nothing, then the pain blossomed impossibly hot and stingy in a concentrated line across his ass. "Ah! Sorry, sorry! I'll watch my mouth! Sorry!"  
  
"MmHm."  
  
"Really, I'm sorry." Sam murmured with a red face as he felt that damn stick tap warningly across the stripe of agony. He knew better, it was a golden don’t antagonize the person who had you ass up. He was lucky she wasn’t like dean who at that point would have found a bar of soap for Sam to suck on until the punishment was through.  
  
"This, is a cane. Very useful, it helps me get those things that are slightly out of my reach, like your attention." Jess swung the cane again laying down a line of pain across the tender tops of Sam's thighs. "Do I have it now?"  
  
"Yes." —tap, tap tap— "Yes ma'am, you've got my attention."  
  
"Very good, I was worried that I would have to go get a hairbrush instead." Jess felt a certain satisfaction in the way the Sam tensed up and looked at her with wide brown eyes. "Would you prefer a brush Sam?"  
  
"No, ma'am."  
  
"Alright then, eyes forward."  
  
This strike was hard and unyielding and the cane flicked back against his ass twice, the first time was the actual swat and the second was recoil but they both hurt more than seemed humanly possible. Suddenly Sam was glad of the belt tied around his wrists, he would have reached back to cover his butt had he not been kept in place. As it was he had already turned most of the way over hiding his bottom and flanks from more punishment.  
  
"Back in position Sam, this cane is light and thin enough that it wont do much harm if I hit your cock with it."  
  
Sam flipped right back on his belly and pushed his face into his pillow wishing that this wasn't happening.  
  
There was a pause as Jess waited for the last stripe to take effect as she counted the raised red wheals on Sam's well muscled behind. He watched as Sam flexed his cheeks trying helplessly to get the sting out.  
  
 _Shwoop_  
  
"Ahh!" Sam's legs curled up in attempt to hide his thighs from any more strokes but Jess took it as an invitation to lay a moderate strike across the soles of his feet wringing a sharp, pained yowl from the man. Quickly he slammed his feet back to the mattress, not wanting to invite another strike to his feet.  
  
"Keep them there," her instructions were sharp and instantly received, just like the following stroke.  
  
Sam's shoulders tenses and shook and he gulped loudly, clearly trying desperately to hold back tears. He remained perfectly still eve as another stroke of Jess' cane brought a new angry red line up on his skin.  
  
There was the brief pause as Jess waited for the pain to bloom and spread just a bit before she brought the cane down exceptionally hard onto that crease where thigh and buttocks met finally wrenching shameless sobs and accompanying tears from Sam.  
  
"I take it you've got some thinking to do." Jess murmured and gave  
Sam's trembling butt cheek a fond pat.  
  
While Sam lay on the bed in silence, listening to her movements and examining the headboard Jess decided to be productive. She wiped down her cane and put it back into the closet. Next she decided to catch up on the evening house keeping.  
  
As Jess wiped down the table and counters of their kitchen nook she couldn’t take her eyes off of Sam's striped butt and thighs. Impact play was not something she enjoyed. When she had dated Cory they parted way because they were sexually incompatible. But this, this was something entirely and inherently different. This was discipline, something Sam seemed to need.  
  
Jessica took her time straightening up and when fifteen minutes passed she pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and went back to the bed. She climbed on the bed and made her way to the head board.  
  
"I'm going to release your hands. No rubbing, got me?" Sam nodded meekly and watched her hands untie his own with an expression she didn't quite comprehend. There was a bit of redness around Sam's wrist that she gently rubbed away. Jessica pulled Sam's head into her lap and threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp just the way she knew he liked. "Are you ready to listen to what I've got to say now, Sam?"  
  
Again Sam nodded.  
  
"I understand why you want the cable. We have three working channels and scavenge Internet connections with out it. But Sam, Baby, $45 a month and a $300 early termination fee is just not something we can afford if we are planning to move out in August. That's an extra $600 we don’t have that we would owe. For now it is just not viable, and yes, we can work extra hours but we barely see enough of each other as it is now with our shifts and overtime."  
  
As far as paying back the cable company, we have to. Do you know what a credit score is?"  
  
"Not really," Sam mumbled and Jess nodded acceptingly, now understanding just what the major issue was.  
  
"A credit score is the grade you are given by the credit bureaus. Those numbers can tell future employers, realtors and salesmen everywhere if you pay your debts back or not. When college is over you wont have student loans, so you're ahead of the game. Don’t ruin your credit by making foolish choices. Pay off your bills and keep your credit in good health, its hard to build it up after you wreck it. Think of it like your cumulative graded classes.  
  
If you need me to help you get everything sorted I can help you. I'd be happy to but you've got to work with me Sam. Let me know if you need me to explain something to you, ask questions if you don’t know. There's no shame in not knowing, only in not seeking out information."  
  
There was silence for a few moments and Sam closed his eyes breathing deeply, "I would like the help, please."  
  
"Okay, we'll sit down tomorrow and sort it out." Jess nodded resolutely to her self and bent to kiss Sam's cheek. "And, Sam?"  
  
"Yeah, Jess?"  
  
"If my cane goes missing after today, I will assume it was your doing and not only will I buy another cane but I'll invest in a new hairbrush too. You understand where I'm going with this?"  
  
Sam buried his face in her lap but she could see his ears turn red in embarrassment. "Yes, Jess."  
  
"Good boy." She crooned and turned off the bedside lamp before returning to petting her chastened boyfriend.  
  



End file.
